White Noise
by CaptainAlbertWesker
Summary: A city gone mad, a world gone to ruin... Zombies, creatures, mutants and daemons from the very pit of hell have spawned into Raccoon City. A scientist of Umbrella Corp. must find a way to escape from Raccoon City and from the talons Albert Wesker.
1. PROLOGUE

RESIDENT EVIL: WHITE NOISE 

All the phone lines are dead. So are the radios and the cellular phones. Everything, everyone, gone, snuffed out, in seconds. Only faint memories of human civilization and static remain.

Static... Yes... Static.

How ironic, speech, human syllables, voices, are all replaced by static from the lone tv, or the white noise from the radio...

Yes. My friends, my neighbors, they're all twisted and marred into something just beyond horrible. Death is my only companion in this hellhole.

Don't bother dying. You'll end up like them, unfortunate souls doomed to walk the earth. They, the living death, the plague of mankind, have entered the human world with a bang. They've come, and by the looks of things, they're staying...

This is John Steward. Welcome to Raccoon City.

---Last Words of John Jason Steward, Raccoon Daily---


	2. Chapter 1

**The Mind That's Blind Sees Nothing But Pain**

**Chapter 1**

The hallway was deserted, save for the occasional shadow rushing across the sparse streaks of light provided by the fiery embers of dying Raccoon City.

Two zombies, creatures of rotting flesh stood at the end of the long hallway, groaning as their feet struggled to support their decaying bodies. They faced the open window, swaying as they detected the light steps of the survivors and sweet scent of food and nourishment.

A moan slipped from a zombie's lips as its limited mind remembered the taste of flesh and blood and the soft crunch of bone as its teeth gnawed, bit and tore the bone to bits…

It didn't notice a particular shadow, silent, swift, darting door to door, checking the knobs for open rooms.

Clothed in black, the shadow crept towards the two flesh-eaters, an executioner, an angel of death. A dagger flashed from between his hand, severing the neck of one zombie, spraying red blood across the wall. The zombie, a battered female with only one arm, vainly clutched at its broken throat as it fell, twitching.

The second zombie, alerted by the demise of its companion, turned, lunging at the figure with the sharp knife. With arms like elastic bands, it stretched its hands, nearly grabbing the shadow's arms as it tried desperately to feed. The knife fell to the floor and the zombie moaned in triumph.

The shadow jumped backward, and, with a flicker of his hand, brought his gun up, the barrel trained on the zombie's head. A Glock 18, black, sleek, was brought up, silent and deadly.

"Boom."

A gunshot, then a slump.

The zombie fell, the bullet penetrating an eye in a gruesome manner. It writhed on the ground like a worm, its life ebbing away with each passing second.

Sighing, the shadow searched the bodies for valuables or personal effects, taking heed to avoid the mouths and teeth of the undead monsters. Finding nothing of value, it turned towards the suffering creature. The zombie moaned as it realized its demise.

With a smash of the shadow's boot, it crushed the skull of the suffering zombie with ease, grinding the bone into the stone floor.

As the blood coagulated on the dry, gray floor, the shadow slinked away, leaving the scene like a shade of death. The only witness to this was a security camera, trailing the figure with a watchful eye.

* * *

Jessie looked at the video with a quiet sigh. Unknowingly, she coughed, her blonde locks covering her glasses and her beautiful face.

A soldier, clothed in green and gray, inspected the video, slinging his MP5 as he watched the shadow dispatch the threats with a silent ease. He watched the figure turn, and, with a shake of its head, smash the zombie's head against the floor.

"It's him alright," the soldier remarked dryly. His hand brushed against his side-arm, a Hi-Point using .45 ACP bullets. A reliable weapon, cheap, dependable.

"Mission confirmed. Retreive the package. Ma'am, stay in the security booth." 

With an air of dignity, the soldier turned, his hand pulling the MP5 from its sling. The MP5, a solid Sub-machine gun using 9mm bullets, felt comfortable in his grasps. 

Jessie slumped in her chair. Watching the soldier depart, her eyes locked onto a symbol found on the man's bullet-proof jacket, an alternating pattern of triangles side by side, forming an octagon. The symbol of Umbrella.


End file.
